You Never Know When Dynamite Will Trip You Up
by Hermionesclass101
Summary: On his first night in the Vongola base, Gokudera decides to check on older Yamamoto. Cigarettes, dynamite and allusions lead to a lot of confusion. "You always come back to me, Hayato." Light 8059&TYL8059. T for the occasional curse. 8059 5980 yaoi


"_Most of the friends we've made these past ten years have been eliminated."_

"_Including Yamamoto's father."_

.

So the baseball idiot's father had been killed. Why did Hayato care so much? He didn't even like Yamamoto Takeshi. Why should a death so unrelated him to have enough effect on him as to have him lying awake?

Admittedly, Hayato had seen the way the perpetual calm surrounding Yamamoto had slipped, just for a moment. He hadn't failed to notice the slight narrowing of eyes that indicated anger, not to mention the down-turning of lips that suggested pain. Hayato supposed that it was the surprise of seeing the swordsman – even ten years older – displaying such human emotions. But that didn't explain why he was staring at the wall and wondering after the well-being of the older guardian.

A cigarette found its way into Hayato's mouth shortly after a frustrated groan escaped it. The nicotine allowed him to examine his position with a more distanced outlook – and it frustrated him that there wasn't much of a difference. No matter how many times he repeated the phrase 'stupid baseball idiot' in his head or berated himself for caring; no matter how many times he flipped over or pummelled his pillow, the fact remained that he was unlikely to fall asleep any time soon. So, with a fresh cigarette in his mouth, he stood – he would find that baseball freak, check to make sure that he wasn't dead and then go back to bed. There was no one awake to notice anyway. It could be his little secret.

Quietly, his socked feet muffled on the wood floor, he left the room he was sharing with the Tenth – ever the heavy sleeper, Tsuna did not stir. He began to make his way down the hall of the base, peering into any doors that had been left open a crack; he would deal with the closed ones on his way back. It had just occurred to him that the base was a rather large place, with many doors both open and closed and he had no idea how to tell which was Yamamoto's when he spotted it.

Unbelievable. The man had a plaque hanging on his door. A full-grown man with a wooden sword proclaiming 'Yamamoto Takeshi: Sword Master' hanging from his door. Hayato slapped his palm to his forehead. And then he paused again.

He was beginning to realize what a dumb idea this had been. There was no way of telling even whether or not the man was asleep, and even if luck was on Hayato's side and he was, the swordsman was no doubt trained to be an expertly light sleeper. However, Hayato was being stubborn again – he had come all this way and he wasn't about to go back and stare at the wall some more. So he pressed forward and placed his hand tentatively on the door handle. Bracing himself for many different reactions, Hayato turned the doorknob and pushed the heavy wooden door open a few inches, wincing at the audible squeak the hinges emitted.

Yamamoto did not turn immediately, but Hayato noticed the sword in his hand right away and had the distinct feeling that he was surveying his surroundings with all his might. Hayato did not even breathe for a moment – that blade looked mighty sharp – and then Yamamoto turned over.

"Oh, hello Hayato," the voice displayed a blatant lack of surprise. This, combined with his first name sliding so easily off of the older man's tongue made his jaw drop. His omnipresent anger seared to the surface before he could convince himself to leave well enough alone.

"'Hayato'? Who said you could call me Hayato? It's Gokudera to you."

"Oh, it's young Hayato," the infuriating smile appeared on the familiar – though now slightly blemished – face as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "I'd almost forgotten. What are you doing awake? Jeeze, stop peering at me like that! Come in if you'd like; you might as well now I've caught you spying on me."

Yamamoto laughed heartily and for reasons indiscernible even to the genius a flush rose to cover Hayato's cheeks. He began to splutter. "Wha- Sp- I was not spying on you, you baseball idiot! And don't call me Hayato!"

"Fine, fine," Yamamoto waved the hand that had been holding the sword moments before in the teenager's direction and Hayato seethed. "Come in then, Gokudera."

Feeling quite as though he had been cornered, Hayato let himself into the room and he couldn't stop himself from looking around in interest. The room was small and cluttered but homey – for some reason, Hayato swore he could smell his cigarettes in the air. As a matter of fact, there was a package of them sitting on the idiot's night table, and he knew for a fact Yamamoto would never smoke. The teenager was growing more confused by the minute, especially as he spotted a familiar belt, and then a scrap of paper with doodles in a familiar hand on them.

"What's the matter, Haya – I mean, Gokudera?" Yamamoto laughed, distracting himself from his own question. "The way the light glints of your hair keeps tricking me into thinking you're Hayato – which you are. Hm. How's this; I'll call you Gokudera, and I'll call my Hayato Hayato."

"_Your_ Hayato? What the fuck do you mean _your _Hayato? I am not yours and to you I am not Hayato!"

"Language, Gokudera. Come sit, don't just stand there."

"You didn't answer my question, baseball idiot."

Another bark-like laugh. "How nostalgic that name is! I'm afraid Hayato is much more creative when it comes to insults than you are, Gokudera."

"Stop calling him – me – Hayato!"

"He – you – don't usually mind," Yamamoto looked troubled for a moment, as though he were focusing hard on something and then an expression of understanding crossed his face. "Oh, I see. Not for another couple of years. It feels like forever!"

"What are you talking about?" the younger of the two was becoming more and more confused and hand in hand with confusion came violent frustration. He was itching to seize one of the fifty-three pieces of dynamite he currently had hidden on his person – he took much of it off before bed – and wipe that content smile off of the older man's face.

"Don't worry about it yet. Now, why were you hovering outside my door at this time at night?"

The blush returned and the itch in his palm worsened. He scrambled inside his head to make up some sort of excuse. "I couldn't sleep and the ostentatious plaque on your door made me want to insult you."

His eyes, however, had fallen on a picture of Yamamoto's father that was sitting right next to his carton of cigarettes. Yamamoto followed his gaze, another expression unfamiliar to his companion gracing his features: a melancholy smile that appeared as though he was trying harder to soothe his friend than himself.

"I'm fine, you know."

"What are you talking about?"

"It was a while ago. I had some great friends to help me through," Yamamoto's smile was adding to Hayato's frustration. The quirk at the corner of his mouth told him that there was something that Yamamoto was not telling him. And it was something important. There was silence for a long while as Yamamoto reminisced and Hayato tried to muddle through what all of this meant. "You were one of them. Well, Hayato was I mean."

"Don't be stupid, Yamamoto, I am not your friend," having finally reached the topic he had been aiming for, the storm guardian's hostility was fading and he was ready to go to sleep. As such, he had dropped his (uncreative) insults.

"Hayato is. And you can call me Takeshi, you know."

"I will not call you by your first name! I am not your friend and I never will be your friend! And stop using my first name!"

Yamamoto stood – Hayato realized for the first time that the other man was wearing nothing but boxer shorts, a thing impossible to not notice when your eyes are level with a bare chest. He looked as though he was trying to restrain himself from something as he walked towards the teenager. "Silly Gokudera," he said softly, and to the aforementioned teenager's surprise, he bent down slightly until he was just above eye-level and stroked his companion's left cheek. Cheeks burning, Hayato slapped his hand away.

"What do you think you're doing?" he hissed, but Yamamoto ignored him, straightening up.

"But then, you were always the one to come to me. Even now, when you're so young, you came to me."

That was it. A hand plunged inside the pocket of his pyjama pants and four bombs were immediately in his hand. "Either explain to me what you mean or I will blow you away."

"There's nothing," Yamamoto's vapid smile was back on his face. "Don't be so suspicious, Gokudera."

"I know you're hiding something," Hayato's voice was a snarl and the fuse of his bombs were straying dangerously close to the lit end of his cigarette. "Those are my cigarettes. That's my belt. I'm going to figure out why my stuff is in your room."

He began to head towards the nearest closet but a hand on his wrist held him back. Yamamoto was still smiling. "That's an easy one. We share a room. Hayato and I are roommates."

"Why is there only one bed?" Hayato pulled away but the effort exerted sent him careening into the bed, knocking his legs conveniently out from underneath him. Having panicked when the younger man started to fall, Yamamoto reached forward – and slipped on a stray stick of dynamite. His quick reflexes allowed him to catch himself on the bed right before he landed on top of the smaller man.

"Hmm. This is a pretty good explanation," Yamamoto grinned another unfamiliar smile, but this one sent chills down Hayato's spine. No. That had just been the discomfort from their awkward position that had done that. His legs were pushed into more discomfort as Yamamoto's strong arms lowered him down towards the bed. Hayato's eyes widened, if possible, even further as rough lips pressed against his. The older man held himself there for a moment and then pushed himself up further, licking his lips ever so slightly. "This is why. Mm. You taste the same."

All at once, Hayato came to his senses. His knee came up in reflex and by fluke connected with Yamamoto's groin. A loud curse that sounded oddly smooth in the swordsman's voice preceded the sudden application and release of pressure on his torso as Yamamoto fell and slid off the bed. Hayato pushed himself up off the bed and kicked his way around the ball of limbs that was the older man, still clenching the spot between his legs.

"Don't _ever_ fucking touch me again, you pervert."

"Hayato, I was only playing!" Yamamoto's voice had almost faded, but Hayato was not quite far enough down the hall to miss it.

"Tch," Yamamoto hoisted himself up off the ground experimentally – his organs seemed to be unharmed. "He'll be back."

Hayato continued to sprint down the hallway, rubbing the back of his hand roughly across his lips. Damn them, they wouldn't go back to _normal._

He wouldn't let that happen. There was no way in hell he would allow his future self to become…_roommates_ with that pervert baseball freak. When he returned to the past, he would make sure younger Yamamoto knew exactly how much Hayato hated him.

.

Two years after he returned to his natural time, Gokudera Hayato found himself pinned underneath Yamamoto Takeshi for the first time, kissing him furiously.

"This was not supposed to happen," he gasped in between messy, inexperienced kisses. "I swore this wouldn't happen."

"You came to _me,_ Hayato," Yamamoto pointed out, holding himself above the storm guardian in a hauntingly familiar way.

"I know that, baseball idiot," Hayato said, pulling the taller man down roughly to his lips. "But don't call me Hayato."

.

{Wow so first fail attempt at 8059. I love them. TYLYama is BUTCHERED because even to have that much in there took a loooot. And Gokudera has to be the worst character ever to slash. But yeah, I hope you enjoyed it. I had loads of fun writing it.}


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